


Precautions

by adr3stia



Series: stay with me [1]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Boxing, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Getting Together, Happy Ending, Hospitalization, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-07
Updated: 2020-12-07
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:08:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27942032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adr3stia/pseuds/adr3stia
Summary: Before every match, Grantaire would turn to Enjolras as he sat in the small changing room and ask the same question around a suggestive smirk and a raised eyebrow. Enjolras would always reply the same thing, his eyes rolling upwards, his mouth flexing into a grin that mirrored Grantaire's, and no hint of rage in his voice."Kiss for good luck?""Die."Until Grantaire almost does.
Relationships: Enjolras/Grantaire (Les Misérables)
Series: stay with me [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2047967
Comments: 14
Kudos: 131





	Precautions

**Author's Note:**

> In which a shitpost on Tumblr inspired almost 4k words of angst and fluff.

Grantaire was, once again, late.

Enjolras paced around the small room as Courfeyrac typed away on his phone and Combeferre stared him down, an unreadable expression on his face.

"Stop fussing," Courfeyrac said, without looking up. "You look ugly with your forehead scrunched up like that."

Enjolras rolled his eyes but ran a finger over his brows in wonder. Combeferre chuckled at his expression and spoke up. "Relax, Enjolras. He'll be here soon."

Enjolras turned towards him. "What if his opponent is annoyed by the delay and decides to hit him even harder?"

"Then R will bite him or some shit." Courfeyrac looked up. "Seriously, Enjolras, it's a boxing match. It's obvious that Grantaire is going to get hurt to some extent - that's not going to change if he's on time."

Enjolras scoffed and kept pacing in silence, aware of Combeferre's eyes on him until the door opened and a disheveled Grantaire ran inside.

"I'm here, what did I miss?" He said, breathless as he threw his bag onto the ground. Enjolras rolled his eyes so hard, his head hurt.

"Joly and Bossuet got called in for work, but their shift might be over when you're done."

"So Courfeyrac dragged you here to check on me?" Grantaire said around a grin. Courfeyrac snorted.

Courfeyrac raised his hand defensively. "I didn't drag anyone - in fact, Combeferre and I were blissfully watching a movie when Enjolras barged in and demanded that we got dressed."

Enjolras flushed as Grantaire chuckled lightly. "There's no need to worry about me, angel. I'm a big boy."

"You're quite literally a child, but sure," Enjolras replied, trying to hold back a smile, only to fail when Grantaire threw his head back and laughed.

In a few minutes, Grantaire was ready, rolling his shoulders and taking deep breaths while Courfeyrac muttered words of encouragement. He searched for his mouthpiece and looked at Enjolras before putting it on.

Nobody approved of Grantaire's second source of income, especially Enjolras. They all had attempted to persuade him to stop participating, even offering to help him find a new job. Grantaire would usually shrug, remind them how little the art industry paid and how much he loved boxing, and sign up for another match. Easy money, he called it. Enjolras thought - and had disclosed such an idea multiple times - that there was nothing easy in risking to get beaten to a pulp and that whatever profit came from it wasn't worth it.

Still, every single time Grantaire had a match, Enjolras would be there - he had never missed one, no matter his work schedule. At some point, his boss had asked Marius, Enjolras' secretary, to organize his meetings around Grantaire's matches, knowing nothing would sway him from going.

Before every match, Grantaire would turn to Enjolras as he sat in the small changing room and ask the same question around a suggestive smirk and a raised eyebrow. Enjolras would always reply the same thing, his eyes rolling upwards, his mouth flexing into a grin that mirrored Grantaire's, and no hint of rage in his voice.

"Kiss for good luck?"

"Die."

It had been a thing for a while, longer than any of them could remember. The first time Grantaire had asked, Enjolras had flushed and replied without a second thought, regretting his words as soon as they had left his mouth. The room went silent for a moment, Jehan eyeing him in irritation as Cosette's eyebrows shot up.

Enjolras was about to profusely apologize when Grantaire had laughed so hard he teared up.

As selfish as that sounds, Enjolras decided right then that he would do anything to see him laugh like that again, so when Grantaire had asked once more, Enjolras had replied in a heartbeat.

It had become some sort of a tradition, no matter how much their friends thought it weird or tasteless. Enjolras had felt guilty about it at first, but Grantaire seemed to think nothing harmful of it, so he always made a point to sound as not-serious as possible and shamelessly basked in Grantaire's smile.

Contrary to their almost religious banter, Enjolras didn't have a specific policy about watching Grantaire's matches - sometimes he would, some others he wouldn't. He almost didn't this time, deciding to stay in the changing room to check his emails. About ten minutes in, the door opened with such force it startled him. Combeferre looked at him in panic before silently jerking his head towards the boxing ring and hurrying away. Enjolras swiftly followed him, an uneasy feeling in his stomach at his friend's utter lack of words.

When he saw what was going on in the ring, his heart almost stopped.

Grantaire looked like he could barely stand, his legs shaky and wobbly. His arms were raised in a defensive stance, but it looked like they felt too heavy to be held up, as the position would sometimes fall through. What truly frightened Enjolras was the state of his face. His eyes were swollen, his cheeks were blooming with bruises and covered in blood.

Only when Enjolras felt Combeferre restraining him after Grantaire had turned his head sideways to spit blood on the ground did Enjolras realize he had moved towards the ring. He looked to the side and saw Courfeyrac hurriedly talking on the phone, possibly trying to get an ambulance there, and turned back to watch Grantaire.

He could pinpoint the exact moment when Grantaire spotted him in the crowd because he saw his shoulders deflate, and his split lips curled up into what vaguely resembled a smile as he nodded slightly in his direction. Right then, his opponent landed another blow that had him fall to the ground, coughing and spluttering more blood. As the crowd roared and the referee announced the winner, all Enjolras could register was his own shout of Grantaire's name, his ears ringing and his eyes focused on Grantaire's limp body lying on the floor.

He broke free from Combeferre's hold on his arm and rushed towards Grantaire, who was being helped outside the ring. They managed to carry him to the changing room before Enjolras sat on the floor and pulled Grantaire towards himself, cradling him in his arms as he lightly patted his cheek, trying to get him to stay awake and mumbling words of reassurance. He smiled when he saw Grantaire open his eyes.

"Hey, champ. Can you hear me?"

Grantaire coughed in response, wincing slightly and trying to sit up. Enjolras stopped him and continued talking when he saw his eyes flutter shut again.

"Stay still, R. Look at me, keep your eyes open. Stay with me, Grantaire, don't you fall asleep."

He kept mumbling and brushing Grantaire's hair out of his forehead until he felt two EMTs gently pull Grantaire out of his grasp, laying him on a stretcher. Enjolras hadn't even realized they had arrived. He instinctively got up to follow them to the ambulance when he felt two hands on his arms, keeping him in place. He looked to his sides to see Combeferre and Courfeyrac. He could see their lips moving, but all he could hear was the flowing of his own blood in his ears. 

He helplessly stood still as he watched Grantaire, passed out on a stretcher, being carried away and out of his sight. He looked down at his hands, fingertips stained with Grantaire's blood, and closed his eyes, praying to whatever deity that was willing to listen, begging for Grantaire to be alright.

* * *

Grantaire came to consciousness when he heard a beeping sound. He couldn't recognize what it was, nor did he remember where he was, so he tried opening his eyes, failing immediately due to an unfamiliar feeling of exhaustion. He tried flexing his fingers and moving his hands, only to feel a steady and heavy presence against his right hand.

Curiosity won over his need to go back to sleep, so he opened both his eyes and turned his head slightly to his right.

Someone's head was resting on Grantaire's bed - weird, he couldn't remember getting into bed at all - and a forehead was pressed in the space next to his hand. A pulled up red hood partly held back a mess of blond curls, most of which had managed to break free. The sight made him smile despite his pained lips.

Against his better judgment, he slowly raised his hand and placed it on the nape of Enjolras' head. The sudden contact must have woken him up, given that Enjolras was now rolling his head to the side, making Grantaire's hand slide over to stroke his jaw and fall over onto the bed. Enjolras blinked his eyes open and smiled lazily, his head moving closer to him.

Somewhere along his search for Grantaire's hand in his hair, it seemed like Enjolras had some sort of revelation, as his head suddenly shot up as he stared at him, eyes wide open. "You're awake."

Grantaire could only nod before Enjolras handed him a glass of water. He shot a thankful smile at him before downing it in a few long sips.

"Were you sleeping?" He asked, once his throat felt less on fire. "I'm sorry I woke you."

Enjolras snorted. "Only you would apologize for waking me while I'm supposed to watch over you."

"About that," he asked. "Why do I need to be watched over and why am I in a bed?"

Enjolras looked to the side. "We took you to the hospital - you were in a pretty bad state after your match."

"Makes sense," Grantaire said, memories of that day flooding back. "How long was I out?"

"You slipped in and out of consciousness for almost two days."

Before Grantaire could reply, three people barged in the room, staring at him.

In the span of a few seconds, Bossuet was at his side, thanking him for having woken up - apparently, that required thanking - Eponine was standing at the foot of the bed, mumbling a string of curses as she lightly slapped his ankles. He was mostly worried about Joly, who was threatening Enjolras with his cane, angry about not having been called earlier. Enjolras looked so terrified as he raised his arms in defense that Grantaire couldn't help but laugh, despite the action caused his ribs to now ache with every breath.

"Put the weapon down, Joly." He said, catching his breath. "I woke up thirty seconds ago."

"How are you feeling?" Enjolras asked, probably noticing how he had winced while laughing. Grantaire shrugged lightly.

"I don't know. It kind of hurts all over, but it's manageable." He furrowed his brow. "What happened to you?"

Enjolras stuttered. "What happened to _me_?"

"Buddy, you're one who got his ass kicked, not the boss," Bossuet said, a hint of confusion in his eyes. Grantaire waved his hand dismissively.

"I know about that, it's no big deal - it's part of the job. What I don't know is what happened to you, angel. Something's different." He stared him down and squinted. Enjolras had never looked so confused, sitting back in his chair as his gaze flicked from an equally confused Joly to an utterly lost Bossuet, moving to an incredibly amused Eponine, and eventually settling back on Grantaire. 

Grantaire made a noise of wonder and extended his hand towards him, lightly touching Enjolras' jaw with the back of his forefinger, his touches becoming more and more insistent as the realization dawned on him.

"You haven't shaved."

Eponine burst out laughing as Enjolras flushed. "That's your main concern?" He asked, looking away.

Grantaire shrugged. "It's a more amusing thought than thinking I lost a match." He ignored the fact that Enjolras looked like he wanted to say something on the matter and continued. "Any reason why you're slowly turning into a caveman?"

"That's because he hasn't been home in two days." Said Combeferre as he entered the room. "Hello, Grantaire. How are you feeling?"

"Thank God you're here, doc." He said around a smile. "I'm in terrible pain, I feel like I'm dying, give me the good meds."

Enjolras glared at him as Combeferre shook his head with a smile. "Seriously, Grantaire, are you in pain?"

Grantaire shrugged. "A bit."

Combeferre checked on his injuries for a few minutes, deciding to give him some painkillers - less than what Grantaire had hoped for, but beggars can't be choosers. After he left, the day went by in a blur of his friends taking turns to visit, power naps in between, and various nurses checking on him. Despite the everlasting but dull pain in his limbs, Grantaire had enjoyed being fussed over, especially considering Enjolras had rarely left his post in the chair beside his bed.

Around eight, after everyone had cleared out, Grantaire tried to roll over in bed, ready to face a lonely and sleepless night in the aseptic room of the hospital, before the door opened once more. He stared dumbfoundedly at Enjolras as he muttered an apology on his way to the small plastic chair he had apparently claimed as his own. When Enjolras raised his brow in confusion at Grantaire's persistent gaze, he coughed and quickly looked away.

"I thought you'd left."

"I'm not going anywhere." He replied without missing a beat.

Grantaire scoffed. "It's late. Aren't you going to get in trouble?"

Enjolras shrugged. "Combeferre runs the place, the nurses aren't going to say shit. Besides, I'm already in trouble as far as Ferre is concerned, so we're good."

Grantaire chuckled. "What did you do?"

Enjolras sat back in his chair. "Let's see, I haven't been home in two days, during the span of which I got eight hours of sleep in total, and I'm pretty sure he's seen me smoking from the window in his office."

Grantaire's eyebrows shot up. "I thought you'd quit."

"Almost," Enjolras nodded. "I only smoke when I'm particularly stressed."

"What's troubling your pretty mind, Apollo? The Capital R psychological support service is back in business. Lay down your load."

Enjolras rolled his eyes. "Take a guess, Grantaire. Why would I be worried?"

Grantaire furrowed his brow. "Did Lamarque organize you a meeting with another pretentious and borderline capitalist old dude? I'll fight him for you if you want."

Enjolras chuckled. "You're not fighting anyone in this state."

"I can still kick this dude's ass, even from a hospital bed."

"No doubt of it, I just don't want you to."

Grantaire's eyebrows shot up. "Capitalists have grown on you?"

Enjolras made a gagging noise, eliciting a laugh from Grantaire. "I'd rather go blind, Grantaire."

"There he is." Grantaire chuckled slightly before looking away and taking a deep breath. "Look, I know it's hardly my business, but did something happen between you and Combeferre?"

Enjolras furrowed his brow. "Why would you think that?"

Grantaire shrugged. "You said you haven't been home in two days and you're stressed - I figured you two fought. I can talk to him and use the _pity me, I'm injured_ card to convince him to forgive you."

"What if he's the one who needs forgiving?"

"As if Combeferre could ever purposefully do something to make anyone mad. You're the menace, whatever happened is definitely your fault."

Enjolras laughed. "Nothing happened, R. You can save your injured privileges for another time."

Grantaire smiled. "Are you sure? There must be a reason why you're hiding out here instead of sleeping in the comfort of your bed."

Enjolras stared at him in silence. "Are you serious?"

Grantaire stared back blankly.

"Can't you think of one reason why I would be spending my nights sleeping on the chair of a hospital room, worryingly smoking my lungs off?"

Grantaire flushed. "You're not worrying your pretty head over _me_ , are you?"

Enjolras raised his eyebrows. "Congratulations, Mr. Grantaire, you passed the pop quiz. Why else would I stay here? You're so stupid sometimes, you know that?"

"I do, nothing to be done." Grantaire shrugged. "Seriously though, I'm fine. Go home."

Enjolras shook his head. "You're not fine until you go back home and I'm not leaving until you're fine."

"I don't suppose there's anything I can do to force you to go home."

"You suppose well."

Grantaire rolled his eyes. "What about your work?"

Enjolras shrugged. "I can do most of my tasks from here, and Marius does what I can't do. I already warned Lamarque, he says he hopes you get well soon."

Grantaire made a toneless noise of disapproval and yawned.

"Get some sleep, Grantaire." Said Enjolras, sternly but fondly.

"No, I'm good." He muttered.

"It wasn't a question."

"Fight me." He closed his eyes.

"I already said, you're not fighting anyone."

"You only say that because you know I'd kick your ass."

"I'd love to see you try."

He scoffed and buried himself further into the covers. "I will once they let me go."

He could hear Enjolras smile as he spoke. "You're insufferable, you know that?"

"I love you, too."

Grantaire fell asleep immediately after muttering his reply, thus missing the way Enjolras' breath hitched and his face softened.

* * *

Grantaire woke up at the sound of two voices whispering angrily.

"I can't leave him here, Ferre."

"Why do you make it sound like you're sending him to prison? He'll be safe even if you're not around him every minute."

"I know he will, I just-" Enjolras groaned in frustration. "He could have died, Ferre."

"No, Enjolras, his injuries were-"

"Under control? They sure didn't look _controlled_ when he was passing out in my arms." He took a deep breath. "I'm not leaving him. I can't."

"Combeferre's right." He muttered, making them both turn towards him, a terrified expression on Enjolras' face as he rushed to his chair. "You should go home, angel." He continued, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear. "I'll be fine."

"It's useless." Courfeyrac's voice startled him, as he hadn't seen him leaning on the wall with his arms crossed over his chest. "He'd just spend his days stressing over not being able to watch over you, or he'd sneak out to come back here."

"You need to take care of yourself." He muttered. "I'll be fine."

Enjolras shook his head. "You don't understand, Grantaire. I-" His voice cracked. "I thought you were going to die in my arms, I can't just go home and leave you after that."

Grantaire's heart tightened as his memories became less and less fuzzy. He remembered Enjolras cradling him on the dirty floor of his changing room as he struggled to breathe. He pushed away the pang of longing to feel Enjolras' hand caress his hair once more.

"Tell you what," started Grantaire, attempting to suppress his urge to wrap his fingers around Enjolras'. "You can stay here all day - although I don't see why you would want to - only if you go home at night to sleep. And sleep you do," he pointed his fingers at him in accusation. "I don't want to see you here before ten in the morning."

Enjolras tilted his head. "Make it nine."

"Nine thirty." Grantaire retorted, leaving no room for further negotiations.

Enjolras extended his hand towards him before furrowing his brow and retracting it almost immediately. "Wait, you're more in pain at night, I should spend the nights here and the mornings home."

Combeferre made a pained sound. "Why does he know that, but _I_ don't? I'm your doctor, Grantaire. You're supposed to tell _me_ this stuff, not Enjolras."

Grantaire coughed in embarrassment. "I didn't tell him either. How do you even know, Enjolras?"

He shrugged in response. "You look more in pain when you're asleep."

Courfeyrac snorted, making both Grantaire and Enjolras turn to him with a questioning look.

"Nothing," he said dismissively. "I just pictured you staring at him while he sleeps to see if he's in pain. You're so fucking _whipped_ , man."

Courfeyrac's eyes widened when he saw how panicked and terrified both Enjolras and Combeferre looked. Grantaire was plainly lost.

"Oh- _oh no_. You didn't- _fuck_. We'll just-"

"We should go." Said Combeferre, glaring at a staggering Courfeyrac as he all but dragged out the room.

Enjolras refused to look at him, intently staring at his shoes.

"Angel," Grantaire started tentatively. "What did Courfeyrac mean?"

He heard Enjolras mutter something that was halfway " _nothing,_ " halfway " _Courfeyrac's a dick,_ " and while Grantaire knew that both his suppositions were plausible, he knew they were also both lies.

"You know I can tell when you're lying, right?"

"Can you, now?"

Grantaire nodded. "You know that I do. What's going on, angel?"

Enjolras groaned. "God, stop calling me that. Stop giving me _ideas_."

Grantaire furrowed his brow. "Ideas?"

Enjolras stood up and started pacing in nervousness. "Stop calling me angel, stop touching my hair, stop making me think that I stand half a _fucking_ chance."

Grantaire's eyebrows shot up in disbelief. When he saw Enjolras' pained expression, he couldn't hold back a laugh.

"And now you're fucking laughing. Have you ever heard of letting people down gently?"

Grantaire somehow managed to stop laughing. "You do realize that I worship the ground you walk on, don't you?"

Enjolras rolled his eyes. "That's my point, Grantaire. You can't just say things like that and then do nothing about it."

He raised his brow. "Why haven't _you_ done anything about it?"

"I didn't think you'd be okay with it."

"How could you not? I'm not exactly subtle."

"I didn't think you were serious!"

"Well, I am! Are you?"

"Why wouldn't-"

" _God_ , just make out!" Yelled Courfeyrac, not so subtly hiding and listening behind the door while Combeferre helplessly hushed him.

They both burst into laughter and looked at each other sheepishly. "Well," started Grantaire, an eyebrow raised. "You heard the man."

"I did." Enjolras couldn't hold back his smile. The smile was not finished when their lips met, and they pretended not to hear Courfeyrac slipping inside the room to take pictures while Combeferre begged him to leave them alone.

Needless to say, from that moment on, whenever Grantaire asked for a good luck kiss, either before a match Enjolras had reluctantly agreed to or before going grocery shopping, Enjolras was more than glad to comply, and, just to ensure Grantaire had enough luck, Enjolras always made sure to kiss him more than just once. You know, as a precaution.

**Author's Note:**

> Well! This is it. As usual, it could have been better but it's not, unfortunately. Still, I hope you enjoyed it!!  
> Also, a companion piece is coming soon, so stay tuned if you'd like. I'm not sure when, but I wrote this in under 24h, so if we're lucky enough it shouldn't take too long.  
> Goodbye, thank you for reading, hope you enjoyed this, see you soon!


End file.
